Fraternity had created a tolerance hitherto unknown.  The crowds were pressing forward, but in their encounters, invariably preserved good order.  Vehicles were running into each other, and when the conductors resorted to the customary threats, the crowds would intervene and make them shake hands.  “Three cheers for France!” The pedestrians, escaping between the wheels of the automobiles were laughing and good-naturedly reproaching the chauffeur with, “Would you kill a Frenchman on his way to his regiment?” and the conductor would reply, “I, too, am going in a few hours.  This is my last trip.”  As night approached, cars and cabs were running with increasing irregularity, many of the employees having abandoned their posts to take leave of their families and make the train.  All the life of Paris was concentrating itself in a half-dozen human rivers emptying in the stations.

Desnoyers and Argensola met in a boulevard cafe toward midnight.  Both were exhausted by the day’s emotions and under that nervous depression which follows noisy and violent spectacles.  They needed to rest.  War was a fact, and now that it was a certainty, they felt no anxiety to get further news.  Remaining in the cafe proved impossible.  In the hot and smoky atmosphere, the occupants were singing and shouting and waving tiny flags.  All the battle hymns of the past and present were here intoned in chorus, to an accompaniment of glasses and plates.  The rather cosmopolitan clientele was reviewing the European nations.  All, absolutely all, were going to enroll themselves on the side of France.  “Hurrah! . . .  Hurrah!” . . .  An old man and his wife were seated at a table near the two friends.  They were tenants, of an orderly, humdrum walk in life, who perhaps in all their existence had never been awake at such an hour.  In the general enthusiasm they had come to the boulevards “in order to see war a little closer.”  The foreign tongue used by his neighbors gave the husband a lofty idea of their importance.

“Do you believe that England is going to join us?” . . .

Argensola knew as much about it as he, but he replied authoritatively, “Of course she will.  That’s a sure thing!” The old man rose to his feet:  “Hurrah for England!” and he began chanting a forgotten patriotic song, marking time with his arms in a spirited way, to the great admiration of his old wife, and urging all to join in the chorus that very few were able to follow.

The two friends had to take themselves home on foot.  They could not find a vehicle that would stop for them; all were hurrying in the opposite direction toward the stations.  They were both in a bad humor, but Argensola couldn’t keep his to himself.